United Kingdom of Soviet America
by starlight1228
Summary: Set in the Cold War, Alex Rider must team up with his American CIA counterpart to stop a Soviet terrorist group. The only problem is MI6 made no promise to pull him out if things go bad.
1. US-British Relations

**I don't know allot of Cold War slang :P**

* * *

Marta Caterina Tosell slouched forward in her seat at Langley. She hated conferences more than peanut-butter Pop-Tarts, yet here she was, enduring another.

"Miss Tosell, please tell us where you found the weapons," Richard Price, the missions director asked kindly, making Marta snap up in her seat.

"A warehouse outside of Sfax, Tunisia," she mumbled incoherently, some of the younger, more empathetic spymasters chuckled with comments of, "_someone didn't get much sleep last night,_" followed by some bitching about the hours and lack of decent treatment from the guy upstairs and the civilian population. Most of the Kraut Fighters sat there unimpressed by the agencies newest recruit, griping about the disintegration of agency material. Marta repeated the location clearly before going to 'powder her nose'. She curled up in the handicapped stall and napped until someone rapped against the door, making her jump. Marta opened the door and scowled at Assistant Director Rawlins.

"You can't just skip out on conferences Agent Tosell, you'll miss important details you'll need in the field," he hissed.

"This is the ladies room, didn't the agency teach you how to read?" Marta replied snidely, she had two hours left before she could clock-out, not that she hadn't considered tampering with the machine, but that sort of field training was frowned upon. Rawlins scowled before regaining his composure.

"I was here to tell you have a special assignment," he said with a fake calmness.

"Don't I always?" Marta asked dryly.

"You're accompanying an MI6 agent on his mission to Soviet Russia to track weapons deals in the area," Rawlins said tightly.

"Anything else I should know?" Marta asked dully, she was tired of the agency. And why the hell were they sending her to the Soviet Union over arms deals, it was hard enough to monitor the Soviet television shows.

"Bring your Yugoslav ID," Rawlins said with an attempted sense of humor which only got him a glare from Marta. "Plane leaves at 0500, don't be late, and Price is faxing you the details," Rawlins informed her before walking out. Marta figured this was a good enough reason to clock-out early and headed over to the breakroom.

* * *

Marta unlocked the door to her families Alexandrian apartment and announced "I'm home," but there was no reply, not to her surprise. Marta opened a desk drawer and pulled out a key, then headed over to her computer. She checked the flight times from DC to Zurich and packed her bags. Nothing suspicious, just some clothes that could belong to anyone and headed out. Before she knew it her plane was rolling down the runway and going to flying altitude. From up here she could see the CIA building where her mom held and office and the Hoover Building her dad worked in. Not that they were within a thousand miles of them. Marta sighed and sunk into her seat, she hated this, the leaving in the middle of the night to get her affairs in order and not having any friends, too risky. Sure she could hate the CIA, the FBI, the NSA and the whole alphabet soup but who she really hated were her parents. They trained her from the beginning, Krav Maga lessons at three, judo at seven, Brazilian jiu jitsu at ten, boxing at thirteen and so on. She'd mastered three Romance languages by age seven and by now she knew dozens more. Only two years ago she had entered Langley and she knew it was a hole you just couldn't dig yourself out of. Already she had been nearly killed half a dozen times more than she wanted too and seen and killed too many people that one day she had called it quits, only her parents forced her back into it and the agency blackmailed her with creating a 'hole' in their firewall directly to her file.

Yet here she was headed to Zurich for her safety deposit box containing all her fake ID's.

* * *

**ACROSS THE POND**

Alex Rider sat in the hallway outside Allen Blunts office. It was eleven o'clock at night and two MI6 agents had taken him from his house to the Royal & General Bank, and Allen Blunt wasn't even there! Alex was about ready to jump ship when he heard footsteps down the hall and a very disheveled looking Blunt came around the corner. He walked into his office, leaving the door open for Alex and he entered.

"We need you in Zurich by eleven tomorrow morning," Blunt said and Alex frowned, usually his missions had some forewarning. "An American CIA agent took an unauthorized flight to Zurich,which means you need to meet her tomorrow at eleven to receive your cover. You're going to track weapons deals in the Soviet Union as, well, she has the information," Blunt said and Alex nodded.

"So I have until I reach hostile territory to learn my cover?" Alex asked.

"No, you're hiding in Zurich for a few days, now go!" Allen said briskly, already rising to leave his own cubicle. Alex scurried out, knowing what he needed to pack. But what confused him was the lack of information and how he was going to track arms deals.


	2. Zurich, Switzerland

Alex sat on the concourse and looked for an American in the shuffle. Businessmen talking in German, French, Italian and Romansh were rolling by with suitcases and Alex's frustration was growing, how the hell was he supposed to find a female CIA agent who he had no picture of in this mess! After two more hours Alex caved, it was eleven thirty and no one had contacted him, only security found him suspicious. He started walking over to the pay-phones, when someone grabbed him and pulled him into a janitors closet. He tried to cry out but someone muffled it. The door slammed shut and he tried to elbow them in the gut, only to have his arm pinned.

"Calm down!" the voice hissed but Alex would not, he tried another evasive maneuver but he was held tight. "I'm CIA, you'll freeze if you know what's good for you," the voice growled, definitely the CIA agent. Instantly Alex relaxed his muscles, the person let go and he turned around to face his assailant. "Sorry about that, but security had you under a microscope and I couldn't simply walk up to you at the payphone," she said and he was surprised she didn't sound American. She sounded Spanish, maybe French.

"You're CIA?" Alex asked incredulously.

"Yes," she said impatiently, he flicked on the light and looked into the eyes of a barely fifteen year old girl. He suddenly felt gawky in this tight of a space with a girl near his age.

"How old are you?" he asked and she rolled her eyes.

"I could ask you the same question," she said, then started fishing through her backpack. "You got through customs already correct?" she asked and he nodded. "Good, I need to get to the bank," she said, slipping something into her pocket.

"What's your name?" he asked and she laughed.

"Oh I forgot to tell you!" she exclaimed. "Agent Tosell," she said and Alex shook his head.

"No, your full name," he said and she shook her head.

"I learned the hard way never give your full name out in the field," she said, her voice trailing off at the end, then picking back up, "you must be what, fourteen?"

"Fifteen," Alex replied a little hardly, he was growing after all. She nodded and gestured to the door.

"Want to leave now?" she asked and Alex nodded, a little confused by this young agent.

"Sure," he answered a little awkwardly. She walked out and he saw she was a little tall for her age, she had long brown hair that was in a braid that went down to her waist, she was slim and muscular, but not like a bodybuilder, she was tanned and was fresh from a mission, she was still checking over her shoulder, covertly of course. Alex followed her to a cab and she gave her destination. They sat in silence until they got to the bank, Tosell paid the cabbie and got out, Alex followed.

"I hope you brought your own ID," she said as she flashed hers to the guard, Alex did the same and a bank attendant escorted them to an area. She retrieved a box and placed it on the table in front of them, then left. As soon as her footsteps faded Tosell went to work, she sifted through wads of cash, ID's, all kinds of odd things, that is until Alex saw the gun.

"Why do you have a gun?" Alex hissed.

"Okay, so a guy is firing at me, you think I'm gonna run up to him and fight him?" she asked like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"How will you get it past security?" he asked and she sighed, slipping it into her bag.

"Just you watch," she said before closing it up and locking it. She called for the attendant and she took the box from us. Tosell suddenly disappeared down the hallway, I followed her but she disappeared into the ladies room. A few minutes she walked out, minus the bag.

"Where's the gun?" Alex whispered but Tosell shushed him.

"You want to announce that too Beijing?" she hissed and Alex shook his head, she removed her finger and walked down the hall and past security, Alex followed suit. After we cleared the cameras Tosell turned down an alley and grabbed her bag.

"How did it get there?" he asked and she smiled and pointed to a narrow window that was twenty feet above us.

"Womens bathrooms have windows here," she said and hitched it up onto her shoulder. "Now I have your ID," she said, handing him a Soviet passport. Alex looked at it, reading his name and memorizing it.

**Alexei Valeri Maksimov**

**Age 19**

**DOB: July 8 ...**

It went on and on, a picture of a brown-haired Alex was next to the identification.

"What's your name?" Alex asked Tosell and she handed him her passport and drivers license.

"What languages do you speak?" she asked and Alex pondered it.

"French, Spanish, basic German and Italian, some Japanese, I'm learning Russian though," he added when he saw the discontent on Tosell's face.

"Okay, you only speak English from now on, a little French if the situation calls for it. What are we doing here? What is our directive?" she asked, stopping on the sidewalk.

"Tracking arms deals," Alex said confidently, when in reality he had no idea.

"First of all, we need to change your cover, your real name is Andrew Clarke and you were born in Marseilles, you're British but coming to the Soviet Union under false pretenses," Tosell told me, grabbing 'Alexeis' ID and ripping it into shreds before throwing it into a nearby trash can. "I am Ekaterina Kozlov, your girlfriend, I'm Soviet and was born in Kaliningrad, I'm 18 and my parents are KGB, they're deep sleepers, so I cannot contact them from within Soviet borders. Your ties to the KGB are your parents are moles in the British MI6 and MI5. They were discovered and locked up for life with no contact, so you hate the British government and want to bring them down, got it?" Tosell said rapidly.

"Why are we so connected to the KGB?" I ask, stupid question since we're going to the Soviet Union, but the KGB is super detailed on who's employed.

"London didn't tell you anything did they?" she asks grimly.

"Not really," I admit.

"Well, we're tracking a Soviet terrorist group, you know how allot of people in the Soviet government hate America and their allies. They've started selling Soviet weapons outside of St. Petersburg and are now selling it to the mob. We're tracking the group that's shipping them to the US and UK for some kind of joint terror attack," she says, her face looks like she's discussing something as casual as the weather, no one would suspect we're spies. "Kat and Andrew are also new to the game so we can be excused for lack of knowledge," she tells me.

"Okay, when do we leave?" I ask, pulling my jacket tighter around me in the cool autumn wind.

"The train leaves at seven o'clock for Moscow," she says and I nod.

"I didn't bring much to prepare for the KGB," I admit and she swings her backpack around, sifts through it and swings it back over her shoulder.

"I have you covered, just don't talk too much in the open about the op," she says quietly. Tosell walks down the street and I get a really bad feeling. The Soviet Union is really well fortified against the West, how on earth will we break their ranks?


	3. Welcome To The USSR

**By the way, information on what goes on inside the Soviet Union is kinda scarce so don't believe any of this as fiction.**

* * *

**ALEX RIDERS POV**

**INTOURIST STATION, KALININGRAD**

* * *

"Good lord _I _can do paperwork faster than this!" Tosell griped in Russian and Alex exhaled slowly, more out of annoyance than relaxation. They had flown into Kaliningradskaya Oblast from Zurich and been immediately escorted by some Soviet officials to the nearest Intourist station. They had barely checked Tosells, well, Ekaterina Kozlovs, paperwork, once she proved herself to be a Soviet citizen. Andrew, on the other hand, had his French-British citizenship questioned multiple times, all were verified along with them questioning both him and 'Kat' about his history. 'Kat' implied his parents were imprisoned for assisting the KGB and soon an Intourist guide arrived.

"Welcome to the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, I am Natashya Isabyaeva and will be your guide until Vladimir is here to pick you up," the young woman said chirpily, much to Alex's annoyance. She sat by them and casually asked him about life in France and the UK. He kept it neutral, as Tosell had coached them in their hotel room in Zurich.

* * *

_"How do we know they won't look you up and then you don't really exist?" he had asked._

_"We had one of our moles make up my identity and my parents, trust me, they won't find out," Tosell had reassured him._

_"And what about my 'parents'? How will they verify that?"_

_"Once again, the mole," Tosell replied impatiently._

_"But wouldn't London advertise they caught moles?" he had asked with real curiosity._

_"Not if it was embarrassing how much information they leaked and how long they were uncovered! Now really I need to freshen you up on Intourist!" Tosell hissed and Alex groaned._

_"All right, what's so important about a tourist company?" he asked with feigned interest and Tosell glared at him._

_"One, it's one hundred percent staffed by the KGB, two, they will make you disappear if you look too suspicious," Tosell had told him but now another question came to mind._

_"Won't they be suspicious of a 17 year old girl and an 18 year old boy traveling together without anyone else? In the Soviet Union of all places?" _

_"No, they recruit and train KGB as young as 16. And they think that Western children are spoiled brats and their country is all roses and sunshine and unicorns barfing rainbows," Tosell said with a bit of malice and Alex rolled his eyes. He could not believe MI6 was sending him off into the **Soviet Union **on some crazy mission with hardly any details and some crazy fifteen year old CIA agent. At least his emotions and reactions were pretty stable._

_"Can I sleep now?" _

_"No, I need to coach you on what questions they will ask," she said, pulling out a file and he groaned._

_"How will you get any of that in the Soviet Union?" he asked and she smiled mischievously._

_"You'll see, now about France, you can't talk about it too positively or negatively..." she started chattering on and on about it but Alex's eyelids were growing heavier by the second._

* * *

"Andrew, the car's here," Kat hissed with a flawless Russian accent, snapping him out of reminiscence. She hadn't learned French so he was strongly advised to stay away from it. She made the same deal, except when it came to Russian. Soon the car pulled up and he took one last look at the depressing place that called itself Kaliningradskaya Oblast, the block housing and nondescriptedness of everything.

"Andrew! We're going to Moscow now!" she growled and he walked over to the Soviet Sudan. It was a tight fit with them sharing the backseat with two KGB officers. Meanwhile Alex let his thoughts wander to his girlfriend Sabina in London. She looks a little like Tosell with her hair but that's where it stops. Tosell looks a bit more like a dancer, Sabina looks more like an athlete. Sabina's baby blues are also much prettier than Tosells chocolate browns. I start thinking of the last tennis game we played, after Wimbledon we managed to sneak onto Centre Court and we played a whole game before security discovered us. MI6 bailed us out so we did a few more times, before Blunt threatened to send me off to Yugoslavia for a year. So I stopped.

Tosell has stopped chattering in Russian and they all turn to look at me.

"What?" I ask and some of the KGB officers look annoyed, Tosell does too.

"We're stopping in Minsk overnight all right?" Tosell repeated and I shrugged.

"Yeah, sure," I say apathetically and she goes back to talking to the KGB.

* * *

Finally we arrive in Minsk and we're in front of a nondescript hotel room. The KGB officers escort us to our room and I'm so glad Tosell can stop talking in Russian.

"So To-" I start but she drops her suitcase on my foot.

"Sorry Andrew," she says, giving me the stink-eye while leaning in for a hug. "The room is bugged," she whispers in my ear and I nod.

"It's alright," I say, finally getting in the game.

* * *

**MARTA TOSELLS POV**

**MINSK, BELORUSSIAN SSR**

* * *

"Vladimir will take us to Moscow today," I tell 'Andrew' from the bathroom as I put on my earrings, which really are bugs transmitting to a base in Poland. "He'll arrive in about an hour," I say. He grunts and I shake my head, smiling for the cameras. From what the KGB did and didn't say, they're expecting something, something big. They're sympathizers with me and my group, shipping weapons and such to the UK and US for some form of attack, practically unheard of in this Cold War. It's called _Cold _for a reason!

"Hey Kat," 'Andrew' calls from the main room.

"Yes?" I ask.

"What's the weather like here?" he asks, the slightest French accent in his voice.

"Dress for Siberia," I say sarcastically.

"Seriously?" he says with equal sarcasm.

"It's normally below freezing around this time of year," I say and he shoots me a look.

"Could you have told me that before?"

"I don't see why you're in such a bad mood Andrew!" I say, trying to sound as much like a girlfriend as I can. The closest I've gotten is making out with a guy on the roof of an apartment building at some party.

"I thought that when you said we were meeting your family we were stopping in Kaliningrad for a few days!" he gripes and I scowl. He's going to give something away.

"Sorry that some of my family is out near Moscow!" I snap. "You need to meet my aunts and uncles! And you know why we can't see my parents!" I snap. My 'parents' are sleepers and I can't contact them within the Soviet Union without drawing attention to them.

"Kat, I never asked to go to the middle of some desolate Communist-"

"Stop it right there Andrew, if you don't like my homeland then just leave!" I yell, probably louder than necessary. He knows damn well the room is bugged! "Is there something else you're not telling me about?" I ask accusatorily.

"Yeah, there is," he says, now I'm really nervous.

"Spit it out!" I say. I would say more but I heard the slightest bit of a Catalan accent slip back into my voice, it's the language my parents speak at home and they sure as hell don't speak it in Russia. Alex is ruining our cover as it is. He probably wants out of this op.

"Why were you snogging Lewis?"

"It was one time! And if you break up with me, or say you are, you'll come crawling back like last time!" I say, trying to convey the _real _message about his relationship with MI6. "And don't even think about leaving me!" The other part of the message. He glowers at me for a minute before storming out the door. "Fine!" I yell after him, knowing there's no one else in this hotel except KGB. Scowling, I pack whatever items I may have scattered around the room and sit on the bed, looking out on the depressed city.

* * *

**Please drop a review on your way out! :)**


	4. Moskva

**MARTA TOSELLS POV**

**MOSCOW, RUSSIAN SFSR**

* * *

The KGB gave us some space in the morning, probably because Alex/Andrew and I are tremendously jetlagged. I told him last night if he didn't like my country, he didn't have to say anything until we met my family. Basically, don't blow my cover. As soon as we get lodged by the terrorists, the KGB will drop us like a hot potato, leaving Alex and I to discuss MI6 and CIA information whenever we feel like it. I look over at the boy in question and he's staring out the window. There's only shrubs and occasional depressed town in between Minsk and Moscow. Some of the KGB officers are jawing off about some guy they messed with, judging from their comments he's not residing in his home with his wife and kids. So I look out the window and pretend not to notice.

"_Tak, Kat. Chto takoye Soyedinenye Shtaty, kak eto vremya goda_?" one of them asks, clearly interested in the US.

"_Zachem_?" I ask, curious myself.

"Friend is, vacationing, this time year," he says in poor English. I pinch my nose. God, if all Russians have this terrible English Alex will blow our cover before we meet the _real _bad guys. I try and be vague about the USA, not wanting to give away any security vulnerabilities. Partly, the love of my country and not wanting Communists screwing around, the other half of me just wants them to be my own little secrets.

I make polite conversation with them, because no Soviet citizen defies the KGB. It's a pretty lengthy drive to Moscow, but by the time I get there I'm so unnerved by the way the KGB officers talk about killing people or, one of the older one is talking about shooting a gulag escapee, I say I'm still jetlagged and need to go to my hotel room. They joke and laugh about how a good Soviet life would toughen me up, it's the fact they're just so, casual, about killing people! Ick! It makes my skin crawl!

* * *

**ALEX RIDERS POV**

**MOSCOW, RUSSIAN SFSR**

* * *

One of the KGB officers tells me in broken English that our 'hosts' will be picking us up tomorrow morning, then they will leave us alone. I nod and head up to the hotel room, ready to pass the information on to Tosell. I head up to the hotel room, taking our two suitcases with me. The car goes off to park and I take the elevator up to the third floor, where we're staying. When I finally reach our hotel room, Tosell is in the bathroom.

"Hurry up," I say, my French-accented, British English being the only sound in the apartment.

"One minute Andrew," she says and I sigh, dumping the bags on their respective beds. I don't want to be sent off to some Communist black hole I could disappear into with the blink of some KGB officers eye. And if our mission does fail, Blunt and the CIA can't request us back without admitting to spying on us, especially with this Gorbachev guy in office, everyone thinks he's going to end the Cold War. So we're stuck between a rock and a hard place, as the Americans would say.

"It's all yours," Tosell says, flopping onto her bed immediately. I head in there and start putting my toothbrush and toothpaste out, when I see something shiny in the corner between the shower and sink. Curious, I lean towards it. It looks like a tiny, _camera lens_, I think. I reach out and touch it, sure enough, the lens refocuses. Using my nails, I pry it out of the wall and look at it. I'm surprised they have a model this size, looking at the wiring. I could either toss it away, or get in a fight with Tosell.

"Kat!" I yell and see her snap up on her bed.

"What?" she gripes.

"Why was _this_," I say, holding up the camera, "in the _bathroom_?" she walks over and runs her fingers over it in her hands.

"I don't know," she murmurs, more to herself than to me. "You know, Andrew," she says, sounding surprisingly upbeat, "I want to take you out for touring," she says, using the wrong word.

"Sight-seeing you mean?" I ask, how will this make it better?

"Look, I want you to see my country. See the Kremlin, it shows what Russia stands for," she says enthusiastically. I'm a little freaked out right now, she sounds like she's taken a sound byte from your dutiful Soviet citizen.

"Sure," I say, "honey," I add as an after thought.

* * *

Sure enough, two KGB officers show up at our door thirty minutes later.

"You want to see _Krásnaya Plóshchad?" _one of them asks, and Tosell nods. I assume he said Red Square. The man gives a wan smile and gestures for us to leave. I think that's the single creepiest thing I've seen a human being do. "Right way," he says, directing it more so towards me. I nod and walk past him, certain I'm going to get shot in the back. But I make it to the car out front.

* * *

We've returned from walking around the Red Square, escorted by two KGB agents, having three other teams survey us, and seeing depressed Soviet citizens scurrying to and from work, when we see a very nice car out in front of the hotel.

"_C__hto eto takoye?" _'Kat' asks. I'm assuming she's asking what it is. Or who's in it.

"Vladimir," they answer and she nods. So now we meet her dear terrorist uncle.


	5. Kat's Terrorist Uncles Training Compound

**So some of you have been asking how I know so much about the USSR. Well...Google is the knower of all things! And the globe at my house still has the Soviet Union on it. This is set in 1985 by the way.  
**

* * *

**ALEX RIDERS POV**

**MOSCOW, RUSSIA**

* * *

The KGB people walk us over to the car and a man on the younger side steps out. He's in a Western-style suit, which surprises me. He says 'Kat' and says some Russian greeting, then hugs her. They start chattering, I guess it's fluff, because the KGB start tuning out, and then look impatient. They cut in, say something to Vladimir, and then leave. Like nothing happened. But hey, if it gets the cameras out of the bathroom, you won't see me complaining.

Vladimir manages to let us out of his sight to let us collect our luggage from the hotel room, and I'm grateful. I want to be alone for just a little bit. Kat compartmentalizes her things into one duffel bag, waiting for me patiently by the door. I take five minutes to pack up, milking it to annoy her, maybe if she complains about me enough at Langley, they won't ask for me on any more missions.

"Ready yet?" Tosell asks, giving me the stink-eye.

"_Tak_," I say sarcastically and she scowls. I don't want to be here with her, hell, maybe the Soviets will deport me back to wherever the hell Andrew Clarke is from. "Hey, Kat," I say, getting her attention, "have you ever been to Virginia?" I taunt and she gives me the look of death.

"_Nyet, no v odin prekrasnyy den' ya budu zhertvovat' perventsa syna Satany za to, chto takoy mudak," _she says, some Russian insult I'll probably never understand, all with a kissass smile on her face.

* * *

I swear I'm going to murder the CIA's youngest agent. The drive to a camp outside of Moscow was _so _boring! I was literally millimeters away from sleep when Kat would jab me in the ribs and smile at me, asking me a question about how I liked the Soviet Union, how it compared to France or the UK, all the while she had a smartass look about her. I was about to scream we were MI6 and CIA, but I don't want to get in a 'car accident'. We finally arrive and Kat nearly slams the goddamn door on my hand, ignoring me when I call her out on it.

"_On toskoval po domu , chto li?__" _Vladimir asks, looking at me like I'm a security threat.

"_Net, prosto p'yanyy on ne mozhet govorit' po-russki_,_" _Kat answers, slamming the trunk shut, making the whole sedan shudder. They start walking and talking, heading down some footpath, it's heading into a thick forest, pretty common around here.

"Coming, Andrew?" Kat asks, gesturing that I am meant to come. I shrug and follow. We follow it for about five miles, night is falling and I can barely see the sky through the evergreens. There's all kinds of ferns and bright green plants just off the path. If you had to run off this and got off track, I doubt you could find your way back. I see some glow through the trees, and there's some sort of curtain of leaves and tree branches, maybe to hide the light? Vladimir pulls it back and Kat slides through, I catch a glimpse of military-looking men and a campfire. Vodka too. Vladimir gives me the universal 'hurry-up' look and I jog forward, stepping through into another world.

They've weaved together any kind of vegetation probably used to clear this area for camp, and surrounded the camp with it so no one could find them on foot. There's forty or so men, gathered around the campfire, and two vodka bottles per.

Vladimir says something to Kat and she nods, he walks over to the group, they're jawing off about who-knows-what and he pulls a man off to the side. He nods, then walks over.

"Good evening, I am Antonin, you must be the newbies," he said, only the slightest trace of Russian in his voice.

"I am Kat, this is Andrew," Kat said, her Russian accent slightly more pronounced, Antonin nodded at me then turned back to Kat.

"I will show you to your quarters. Men and women are normally housed separately, but I think we will make an exception this time," Antonin informs us, heading off towards a series of buildings. They're depressing. Made entirely of sheet metal or wood, I doubt they'll keep you warm. There's Soviet propaganda and architecture everywhere, so much red and decals of Gorbachev I'm about to paint a Union Jack to have some variety, or sketch a profile of Winston Churchill when Antonin takes a sharp turn down a narrow path between two buildings. The pass is narrow, muddy ground underneath my shoes and icy cold metal pressing in on my sides, I hate it already.

"Here you are," Antonin says dully. The building looks like it was built around the time Stalin breathed his last, and in about the same condition. It's some wooden cabin, nicer than the others, but the windows are cracked and layered with filth. Bits of fabric serve as curtains and the door looks like it hasn't moved in ages. Antonin opens the door for us, it grinds against the wooden floor and Kat stops him from opening the door fully, just enough for us to get in so we don't have to hear that awful sound. She disappears inside and I follow, Antonin right behind us.

"You won't have electricity, it's being diverted to the Forgery Lab, but you will have plumbing. I'll come by tomorrow morning by 0700, be ready for morning exercises. You will be trained separately from the others, we don't take anyone under 18. You will not be surveyed inside this cabin. Do not leave this camp without a guide. And don't get on Arkady's bad side." And with that he was gone.

"Cheerful bloke," I quip and Kat glares at me, pulling out her portable radio from one of her coat pockets. She's been wearing this one black coat that goes all the way down to her knees. She says it keeps her warm in Moscow, but it just annoys me. She looks like a stereotypical spy sometimes.

"Spare me," she said icily. Her radio made a slight beep and she let out a brief sigh of relief. "Rooms clear of surveillance. But I wouldn't count out eavesdroppers, Andrew," she said matter-of-factly.

"Whatever, _Kat_," I throw back at her.

"Don't screw this up," she says, stripping off her layers until she's in a tight-fitting t-shirt that has wide shoulder straps and Levi jeans.

"You wore those to a Communist state?" I ask scornfully.

"Well I wasn't expecting someone to be looking at my waistline, right where the tag is," she replies, our boyfriend-girlfriend cover is long gone.

"So you never planned on taking off your coat or someone being a perv?" I ask.

"If it bothers you so much, look away or go in the bathroom so I can change," she says stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No need to be so uptight, and why can't you change in the bathroom?" I grumble,but she rolls her eyes.

"We have a toilet. That's it. The showers are in the common area," Tosell states.

"How do you know this?" I ask.

"Sink is right next to the closet, not through that door," she says, gesturing to the smaller wooden door behind the bunk beds. "And I get top bunk," she adds, climbing up. I examine my surroundings more closely. Right when you walk in there's two desks, one on your right and one on your left. There's a calendar from 1979, about six years ago, hanging up above one of them, so I get the feeling this place hasn't been used in a while. About three feet away there's a bunk bed jammed against the wall past the desk on the left, and behind the right desk there's the sink and a closet. And the doors are directly across from each other. Overall, a twenty by ten space to share with the worlds bitchiest CIA agent.

Charming.

I shove my bag under the beds and hop under the covers. Tosell is going through the desks while brushing her teeth, and there's sleet banging against the roof, thunder in the distance. Winter is soon coming, so I may as well ask for another blanket tomorrow.

* * *

**TOSELLS POV**

* * *

I made sure Alex was dead asleep before I took out the desks contents. I sort of 'claimed' the one on the right, which is fine by me, when you walk in through the door, you can't see what I'm doing.

I only sleep four hours a day, it's all I need thanks to my parents training. It's a pain in the ass in the civilian world, but in this world it can save your ass. So when I plug my headphones into my radio, if there's any surveillance, they'll think I'm just suffering from insomnia. Sure, it's a radio, but it also detects any surveillance device within one hundred yards, standard range for cameras and bugs. I did it earlier, but this one was more thorough, in case they activated more or the thirty-foot pickup missed something. I didn't do it in Minsk or Moscow because the KGB were surveying us, and they would have deported us first chance. But these people expect you to be careful, they'll just be pissed you detected them so easily.

My dutiful radio/cassette player is also a two-way, but Rawlins made it very clear that if I used for something other than an emergency extraction, my ass would fry. So that's why I don't push the record button five times in a row. I go ahead and climb in for the night, blowing out the candle before I nod off. No electricity means we need to keep this place from burning down. Now I see why those guys were clinging to the inner rings near the campfire like there was no tomorrow, these places are barely insulated.


End file.
